The Collection of DuckTales One-Shots
by SpoiledTruth
Summary: This book hosts a collection of one-shots I've written on Tumblr via asks. I don't own Ducktales, Disney does.
1. Are You Okay? (Dewey x Webby)

Angst warning goes here. Kinda. Like not angst between the ship, but just the situation in the story in general. You're welcome!

* * *

At first, they all thought that he was off doing his own thing. When he didn't come back for 24 hours straight, everyone began raising concern for him. They tried calling and texting him, no answer.

It had been a week now, and no sign on Donald Duck.

During that time, the triplets had sort of… split off. Huey kept brainstorming ideas on what could've possibly happened to his uncle, Louie binge watched Ottoman Empires to keep himself distracted from what was going on, and Dewey? Everyone knew where Dewey was, in his pajamas under the covers on his bed. He refused to eat, but luckily was convinced to start drinking again after a couple of days.

Every time Webby wanted to talk, her Granny or someone else would tell her to back off for Dewey's sake. But she wanted to try!

Finally, the time had come. Huey was heading towards the library, Louie was watching TV, and the two adults remaining were down at the police station. It was just her and Dewey now. Now it was her chance.

She walked up the stairs, the floorboards creaking with each step. When she finally came to the front door, she sighed before knocking.

Silence.

Webby opened the door, adrenaline seeping into her veins and worry looming over her. Quiet snoring filled the room.

"Thank goodness, he's just asleep," she whispered to herself.

"AAH" Dewey screamed seemingly out of nowhere. His breathing was loud and fast. His voice was growing raspier by the second.

Within the span of a few seconds, he went from breathing heavily to crying. Crying and wailing and balling non-stop.

"I-I didn't mean to wake you up!" Webby said. Dewey didn't respond.

"U-Uncle Donald, please don't leave me," he cried out. Webby frowned, realizing that Dewey had had a nightmare.

"Here, here," she said, climbing up onto the bed and wrapping her arm around him to provide him comfort. Now was the time to work her magic. She believed that she could help him out the most. If she could get him to start eating again, that would be miraculous. After thinking for a few minutes, she started the conversation the best way she thought up of.

"Are you okay?"


	2. Please Don't Go (Huey x Webby)

_WARNING! MORE ANGST!_

* * *

"Please don't go." Was the last thing Webby said that Huey heard.

Webby couldn't get the ringing out of her head. She didn't want to. It was the last thing she heard from Huey. The nurses pulled the plug right after that. She grabbed onto them, kicking and punching and screaming.

"He has to be alive! This has to be a mistake!" she yelled, tears blurring her vision.

She was kicked out of the hospital right after that. But did she care? Yes, actually. She kind of did.

Months had passed since then. He was buried in the McManor garden where he laid, lifeless. Webby couldn't get over the fact that Huey was dead. There just had to be some way that he was alive. Some way. Any way.

While pacing around in her room like she had been doing for the last couple of weeks, she felt like giving up. She refused to eat or drink and ran out of ideas. Or so it seemed.

Webby sighed, leaning down to open her chest and pick up her diary. Next to it, she saw her book covered in pink with a unicorn on the front. A weak grin grew on her face as an idea popped into her head. She knew Uncle Scrooge would be mad about it, but in return for life again? He would thank her. After a speech or two about magic, that is.

She shook off the fake cover to reveal what she hid: a spellbook. Grabbing the nearest book bag, she stuffed the book in there, clicked the book bag shut, and headed out.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Beakley asked.

Webby froze. "Uh, to the garden, to read!" she managed to say without stuttering. Man, Louie's lessons in lying sure helped her out, she thought to herself.

"Okay then," Mrs. Beakley said with suspicion in her voice. Webby grinned and headed out to the garden.

Once there, she sat on one of the garden benches and looked around before taking out the book slowly and flipping through the pages to find a spell or ritual to bring Huey, her one love, back to life.

Meanwhile, through the window, Mrs. Beakley stares intently.

"What's going on?" Scrooge asked.

"I think my granddaughter is up to something," she said plainly.

The two looked out the window to see Webby reading something and taking notes.

Webby was surprised to find a pen in the book bag along with a piece of paper. Sure, it had some writing on it, but it would do.

"Five red candles, two normal candles, one placed on top and the other placed on the bottom," she said, writing it down, "6 turquoises, and it needs to be done at sunrise." She wrote down the cantation before closing up the book. She would do anything to bring Huey back.

She walked over to the grave that was nearby and got on her knees, placing a hand on the mount of dirt. She shut her eyes as tears began flowing out. "Please don't go."


	3. I Just Care About You! (Louie x Lena)

Webby had invited Lena over for another sleepover. Of course, that came with Magica talking to Lena whenever she got the opportunity to, which annoyed Lena to an excruciating degree, but what was she going to do about it?

She sighed as Magica disappeared and Webby reappeared in the room. "I managed to sneak some cookies up! But don't tell Dewey, though," Webby said, giggling right afterward.

Lena smirked. "Is that some pink I see?" she asked in a teasing manner.

"Yea, it's my shirt! You just noticed?" Webby questioned.

"No, on your face, silly!" Lena remarked. "I think I saw you blush a little."

"Wh-What? No!" Webby said, trying to defend herself.

"So, tell me all about Dewey," Lena said.

"No! It's just we're friends, that's all!" Webby said. "Sure we may hang out more than the rest, but that's normal! It's not like I think about him all the time or anything!"

A loud knock was heard on the door. "Webby, did you take my cookies again?"

"Uh, no?" Webby said.

The door opened, revealing Dewey. "Give me back my cookies!" Without a second's delay, Dewey lunged forward and tackled Webby.

While the two were wrestling for a bag of chocolate chip cookies, Lena looked over to the wall, fearing the worst.

"Go to the money bin now while there's a distraction!" Magica hissed, growing as a shadow on the wall.

"No!" Lena whispered back. "Webby's very… good at picking up details, she'll notice if I'm gone instantly!" she said, making an excuse. While she never experienced that herself, she could see that happening.

A gasp was heard and Magica immediately shriveled down into Lena's normal shadow. Lena looked over to see Louie.

"Hey, what's up?" she asked nonchalantly.

"What was that?!" he asked, pointing to the wall.

Lena's stomach dropped down. Did he notice? She had to play it off and fast!

She cleared her throat, "my shadow?" She looked around to point at her own shadow.

"Yea but your shadow looked like someone else, and it was talking!" he proclaimed.

Lena froze. He did see. Crap!

Louie looked over before grabbing her hand and dragging her out to the halls. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing!" Lena defended.

"Then why were you talking to a talking shadow?" Louie asked.

"I was talking to my own shadow because I was bored," Lena countered.

"Your shadow didn't look anything like you!" Louie said.

"Maybe you're hallucinating?" Lena offered.

"No! I know I'm not! I just want to know what that was!" Louie said.

"I can't!" Lena told him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because!" she replied.

"Look, I just care about you!" he yelled. "So tell me what that shadow was. Please."

"You… care about me?" Lena asked, completely thrown off. "Like a crush?"

"Yes but that's not the point," Louie said quickly, clearly not thinking before speaking, "just tell me what that was!"

Lena sighed. "I can't."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," Lena said, "She can take me out of this world," she snapped her fingers, "just like that."


	4. Jock vs Jerk (Dewey x Webby)

_Had to change the chapter name because it was too long. Original chapter name: You're A Jerk, I'm A Jock. There's A Difference! (Dewey x Webby)_

 _No angst this time! Yay! :^)_

* * *

Thanks to stereotypical high school movies, Dewey hadn't made a lot of friends. Most of them were girls wanting to date him once then dump him. He saw through their fake facade.

There was one friend he did have by his side: Webbigail Vanderquack.

No one really wanted to be friends with her. They all considered her weird, not normal. Huey, Dewey, and Louie, however, stood by her side. The only difference was that Dewey was risking his "status" to be friends with who students called a weirdo.

Note to self, Dewey told himself, don't join the football team next year.

He didn't like the popularity he was receiving, senior girls who depended on their plastic surgery to get them far in life, other students fearing him thinking that he would chuck them in lockers, and the fact that hanging out with one of his only friends would "ruin his reputation". He hated it. Every single part of it.

He also hated the fact that his uncle would worry about him all the time, especially with the head contact. Dewey somehow managed to get safe in that department in every game, but he felt his luck slowly slipping away.

If he could just be friends with whoever without being judged, he would love it. Almost as much as he loved his best friend. But of course, that secret would never be revealed.

Today was almost like any other day.

"Hey Dewey, I have an idea!" Webby piped up. Dewey blushed slightly. Today she decided to put her hair up in a small pony, and he found it quite cute.

Dewey turned his attention towards her, clearing his throat before speaking, "And that is…?"

"What if we checked the history books in the school library and see if your mother did any notable things? Perhaps that would get us somewhere!" she offered.

He thought about it. "That does sound like a good idea. How about at lunch today?"

"Sure thing!" Webby said.

One of Dewey's teammates came walking up on the other side. "Hey buddy, wanna practice our football drills today at lunch?"

Dewey shook his head, "Thanks but no thanks."

"What? Why?" he asked.

"Because I already have plans," Dewey said flatly.

"Like what?" the teammate countered.

"Going to the library to… study," Dewey said.

The teammate looked over at Webby. "Oh, so a date with that Webby girl, eh? Why do you even bother hanging out with her?"

A spark lit up in Dewey's body. "Because she's my friend," he hissed out.

"Oh please, you know that you have a reputation to keep up!" the teammate said.

"What reputation? I don't care about this whole reputation thing! It's bull crap!" Dewey shouted. A few students in the hall began to stop in their paths and turn to the two boys who were arguing.

"You're a football player! You're one of the most popular players in the school! And yet you push all of the girls aside for this nerd!" he shouted, pointing towards Webby.

"She may be a nerd, but she's a nerd I would want to be friends with!" Dewey countered back.

"She's worthless, you're one of the best jocks on the team, and so am I! Just leave her and come with us!" the teammate said.

More people had made a surrounding between the two, trapping Webby in there as well. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Kept being chanted over and over again.

"You're a jerk. I'm a jock. There's a difference!"

That day Dewey was sent home early. He didn't regret it one bit.


	5. The Price Of Losing A Bet(Dewey x Webby)

_The title had to be modified because the original title was too long._

 _Original title: Cutting and Coloring My Crush's Hair (Dewey x Webby)_

* * *

It was all thanks to a bet that Dewey was sitting on a chair in the bathroom and Webby standing behind him with the two things that she should never be holding: hair dye and a pair of salon scissors.

"Webby, could we do another bet?" Dewey asked.

"Sure! What's the prize?" Webby asked.

"If I win, you don't ruin my hair!" Dewey shouted.

"Sorry, no can do!" Webby chimed.

Dewey wondered why he even decided to participate in the bet.

He sighed. "Please tell me you know at least know something about cutting hair," he begged.

"Nnnope!" Webby said.

Dewey groaned. "How about the hair dye? Did you choose a color I would like?"

Webby giggled. "I hope you like electric pink!"

Dewey screeched. He tried to get himself out of the chair, but Webby refused.

"I'm trying to cut your hair!" she insisted.

"Ugh, fine." Dewey sat back in his chair, knowing he was going to regret this decision one hundred percent.

After a butt-numbing amount of time sitting in the chair and letting his crush play with his hair however she pleased, the torture had ended.

"I'm finished! Just need to dry your hair and recomb it and all should be good!" Webby chimed.

As Webby was drying Dewey's hair with a towel, a knock was heard on the door.

"Don't come in!" the two said in unison.

The doorknob turned and the door opened, revealing Donald.

"Uh… dinner's ready?" he said, confused as to what he was seeing.

Donald scanned the bathroom. He immediately spied out the scissors and a scrunched up tube of something.

"What did you do?!" Donald demanded.

Webby grinned sheepishly, releasing the towel to reveal her creation. Donald and Dewey gasped.

His hair looked almost normal. Maybe a trim here and there, but it wasn't DIY doll choppy like Dewey thought it was going to be. The electric pink sure brought him back to the eighties and made him squint his eyes, but he could get used to it.

"Doesn't look bad at all," Dewey commented.

"You actually liked it?!" Webby asked, shocked. She began to bounce up and down and grin goofily.

Donald sighed, facepalming. At least it didn't go worse.


	6. Demon Love (Scrooge x Demon Beakley)

_I've never written this ship let alone a demon version of a character. Let's see how this goes…!_

* * *

 _Note: I didn't write this to be an abusive relationship. I imagine this as Scrooge trying to find a way to get the demon out of Mrs. Beakley, and Mrs. Beakley hates having this demon inside of her. Scrooge puts up with Mrs. Beakley's demon side, but he doesn't find it romantic at all. It's just him saying "she may have this dark side to her but that doesn't make her a deal breaker" thing. This note is getting way too long, I just wanted people to know that this isn't a one-shot romanticizing an abusive relationship because I'm afraid that someone may take it this way when that wasn't the case at all._

 _(also, I'm sorry that this is super short! ^^; )_

 _One more thing: the title had to be changed_ again!

 _Original: She May Be The Devil, But I Still Love Her (Scrooge x Demon!Beakley)_

Scrooge walked into the kitchen, checking the rooms to find where Mrs. Beakley was. She needed to get to bed soon. Every night around midnight her demon for would take over. Scrooge had to sleep in a different room with demon-proof protection every night. Yet, despite this, he still would put up with Bentina. Just for love.

As he entered the kitchen, the sound of running water filled the room, a baggy-eyed, sleep deprived Mrs. Beakley leaned over the counter, cleaning the dishes.

"Mrs. Beakley," Scrooge yawned out, "it's time for ya to go to bed."

"No," she muttered.

"You didn't get good sleep last night! You need some sleep now!" he argued.

"I need to get these dishes washed." She sounded like a zombie.

Scrooge sighed. "You can't even think straight. How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I haven't gotten any sleep for at least two days," Mrs. Beakley admitted, drying a dish.

"What?!" Scrooge yelled. While his mind was buzzing around, trying to form sentences, the sound of the grandfather clock approaching midnight echoed in the house.

Mrs. Beakley froze, the dish in her hand falling and shattering on the tile flooring. Scrooge looked up.

"Oh no." He backed away, trying to get out of the room, but it was too late.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mrs. Beakley hissed out.

Scrooge sighed. "Too late," he whispered to himself. "She may be the devil, but I still love her," he said, being pulled towards the demon.


	7. The Chocolate Chip War (Dewey x Webby)

_This is the other side of_ "I Just Care About You!" _So if you haven't read that yet, I suggest you do or else you'll be kinda confused._

 **Requested by: MaxElight**

Maybe Lena was wrong.

Webby didn't suspect for a single second that Lena was out of the room. Right now, she was focused on the intense battle she was fighting at the moment. The flight for the bag of chocolate chip cookies!

"Webby," Dewey said through his teeth, struggling to pull the bag away, "let... go!"

"Never!" she yelled.

The two tugged on the bag back and forth like a game of tug of war. How the bag didn't rip in half yet was anybody's guess. Sweat covered both of their hands, the hot sweat slicking onto the plastic bag didn't interact well and it felt like a slip n' slide.

After intense tugging for minutes on end, the bag ripped in half, the two halves slipping out of each other's hands from all the sweat they produced. The cookies flew in the air and scattered all over the room.

The two looked at each other with intense looks.

'Dewey looks so heroic with that look of his,' Webby thought to herself. She swore she felt her body heat up slightly. Webby blinked, noticing that he was gone from her vision. She shook her head before beginning to pick up cookies for herself.

This process took longer than the two thought; only because Dewey kept diving in where Webby was and taking cookies she was about to pick up. Realizing that Dewey was going to play dirty, she decided to play dirty right back at him. The two kept diving towards each other, mushing up more than actually grabbing cookies.

After the intense diving battle of picking up the cookies, they looked back, thinking they did a great job picking up. When they scanned the room, however, they were completely wrong.

Crumbs were scattered all over the floor like sprinkles. Some chocolate chips had melted into the carpet and made small yet nasty stains. Most of the cookies they were holding were broken into many pieces, and to top it all off, they had no bag to place the cookies in.

Dewey and Webby looked at each other. "Wanna eat all of these cookies and then regret our life decisions?"

Webby's eyes sparkled. "Sure! That sounds fun!"


	8. Power Couple (Dewey x Webby)

**Warning:** _99% angst and 1% fluff. You have been warned. Dewey and Webby are 18 as well. Also, Dewey and Webby are a couple, but a secret couple. Nobody knows… yet._

* * *

Dewey wasn't so sure how to feel. Other than his sweaty palms, his shaky breath, and his weak knees, his mind felt cluttered. It was as though two parts of his brain were at war. One side told him that this was the way life was. The other side, however, told him otherwise. He was a failure, it said. You'll never see her again. You don't deserve her. You're too dumb.

Maybe if he tried to hide the letters she wouldn't notice. Dewey knew her too well, she would notice anyway. It was worth a try.

His hand slipped as sweat coated the doorknob while he attempted to turn it. When he got another grip on it, the door opened, leading to the huge hallway into the manor. There she was, standing and waiting.

"Did you get any letters, Dewey?" she asked excitedly.

"Uh," he looked around nervously, "no…?"

Webby leaned over and saw the envelopes behind Dewey's back. "Uh huh, sure."

"Look, Webs, I just want to read them to myself," Dewey said.

"What? You promised you would read yours aloud!" Webby countered.

"I know," he said. "Just, please."

"Oh, c'mon! What's the big deal anyway?" Webby asked, reaching over to snatch the letters.

"Webby! Stop!" Dewey shouted.

Too late. She got the letters in her hands. "Let's sit down, shall we?" she offered.

Dewey could feel the tears stinging and begging to be free. His heart was beating so fast it felt as though it weren't there, and his stomach kept tying so many knots he could've puked at any moment. His head was light and he had a hard time thinking straight. He didn't want Webby to know, however. "Sure, let's head t-to the couch."

As the two plopped down onto the couch, Webby grabbed the first letter. She read it quickly. "One college accepted you already, Dewey! Isn't that great?" she asked, pecking him on the cheek.

"Y-Yea," Dewey said.

The next letter. "You got accepted here, too!"

The next one. "And this one!"

Another one. "You've probably been accepted to all of the colleges you've applied for! Can't wait to read the last one!"

It was from Harvard. He knew there was a slim chance of him being accepted in that prestigious school, but Webby had begged for him to try. She was planning on attending there as well. Webby wanted her boyfriend to be at the same school she was attending. In return, Dewey asked if she could apply to one of the colleges he applied to, and she accepted.

"I know you're gonna get into Harvard! Too bad I wasn't able to get into that other school," Webby said.

"You mean the one I asked you to apply to?" Dewey asked. "But why?"

Webby sighed. "They said I was overqualified to attend that school," she admitted.

Dewey looked at her. "Oh."

A smile returned to Webby's beak. "But at least we'll still be attending Harvard together, right Dewey?"

Dewey looked away.

"Dewey, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Just read the letter." His voice was weak, trying to control the tears that were silently streaming down his face. His duck body began to shake ever so slightly, but Webby took note of it. Dewey's face was away from her.

She took the letter out and read it. "It is with great apology that we do not accept you into our school, as you underqualified with a 3.5 GPA…"

Silence.

"I'm dumb," Dewey said quietly, his voice shaking.

"No, you're not! Harvard's a snobby school anyways. I haven't even accepted the full-ride scholarship they provided me yet-"

"Yes you have!" Dewey yelled. "I heard you discussing all about it with your Granny last night!"

Webby was shocked. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"No, it's okay," Dewey said. He breathed out before uttering the next words out. "I think we should end it."

"End what?" Webby asked, fearing for what he was saying. She knew what he was going to say, but she prayed that she didn't know this time.

"Our relationship."

Webby sniffed. Then a hack. A loud wailing filled the manor as she wailed loudly.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Webby yelled.

"For everything. Being a failure, for being dumb, for everything."

"You are none of those things and you know that!" Webby argued.

"Look, I just don't think our relationship will last during our college years," he admitted.

Webby stood up. "So you're just going to give up?" she asked between sniffles. "You don't even want to try?"

"No, not really," he said. His entire face was wet with tears.

"I thought we were the Power Couple, Dewey! Whatever happened to that?" she asked.

Dewey sighed. "I've lost all of my power."

"But I haven't lost any of mine yet!" Webby proclaimed. "We ride together, we die together!"

Dewey finally turned around. "Really?"

"Yea!" Webby said. "That was the first thing you told me, remember?" She ran up to Dewey and hugged him.

"I love you, Webs," Dewey said.

"I love you too." She gave him a peck on the forehead.

As the two parted, footsteps were heard. The two backed away from each other and turned around. Scrooge was coming down the stairs.

"So," he said, walking along the floor and facing the two. "What's this whole thing about being a 'Power Couple' I heard?"


	9. Social Anxiety (Louie)

_So I saw_ **this post** _and came up with this idea of Louie having some sort of anxiety disorder. And thus, I came up with this shit show! Warning, tears may be shed. This is literally about him having a panic attack. You have been warned._

* * *

When he was just a kid, everything was fun and games. Joking around, going on great adventures, being fearless. That's what he was known for, being fearless. It was hard work to put on that confident facade. At first, it was to have fun with himself and to build his self-confidence. Being known as a sissy who cried at everything wasn't the best. However, as time passed and he grew older, it felt as though he needed to please himself and satisfy his family by being his fearless self. He knew this was all in his head, but he couldn't stop the vicious cycle. It was too wild to stop, and he was too emotionally drained to do anything about it. Keeping up an image now is the most difficult thing he's ever done, and yet it feels impossible to pull himself out of the belief that he has to do this every single day.

The school bell rang and the remaining students sat at their desks. Louie hated this class so much. Not because he found the subject one of the more duller topics to hear about every day, but rather his teacher wasn't the best. She never cared about other student's feelings or self-being. Kids weren't allowed to use the restroom or go to the nurse's office in the class. No one enjoyed the teacher and it was quite common for students to skip this class.

However, as the classroom door opened, everyone cheered. A substitute had appeared, and Louie cheered along as well. He was distracted from his anxious feelings. Almost.

"I know your teacher isn't here today," the substitute said, "but we're still going to do the presentations like your teacher asked."

The whole class groaned in unison except for Louie. Louie just sat there, feeling light and clammy. He could feel his body shaking and he hopes no one else noticed. It felt as though his happy emotions became rotten and fell right down to the pit of his stomach. Why was he feeling this way? Why did he always feel this way whenever they had to do presentations or if a student came up to him and started talking? He would just take a deep breath and act like nothing was wrong, but it was much more difficult to do that today.

"According to your teacher's list, Louie Duck is first?" she said.

Louie hated going first, or going at all. Despite having finished the presentation a week early, having spent two weeks with deep research, had his brother Huey help him all throughout, and had everyone help him modify his presentation slightly (Mrs. Beakley helped quite a lot he had to admit), he still felt unprepared. He even made note cards like Huey suggested. Yet he could feel them getting soggier by the minute.

He sighed, standing up and slowly making his way up front. As he loaded up his powerpoint, he could hear students whispering amongst themselves. That's when his mind thought it was a good time to send his anxiety overboard.

What were they talking about? Did they notice how nervous he was? Was that person staring at him briefly? What did he do? Did he forget to wear clothes? Was there something on his face? Was there a rumor going around?

"Louie, whenever you're ready," the teacher said, smiling. Louie jumped, scared from the sudden voice.

A few students giggled. Were they laughing at him? Yes, they were definitely laughing at him. They had to be. What else were they laughing at?

His head began to ache, his movements feeling light, his voice disappearing. He could feel his throat closing up and his head becoming dizzy.

"I," he said, "I have to go to the restroom!" he managed to get out, standing up abruptly and running out of the classroom.

Were kids laughing at him, thinking how stupid he was? Probably. As he ran out, he dumped his notecards all over. He didn't notice, however, and kept on running towards the bathrooms.

He finally made it. He didn't look to see which restroom he was going in, but luck was on his side as he entered the male restrooms. Louie felt for the first door that felt loose and pushed it open, slamming the door behind him and not bothering to lock it.

Louie's eyes stung badly, tears begging to be free. He didn't put up a fight and let the warm, salty tears flow down his face. He wept loudly, making choking sounds as his throat kept opening and closing while he cried. Louie was kneeling on the grimy bathroom floors, too weak to stand up or move. His sinuses blocked up quickly with snot from all the crying.

His head throbbed in pain, his voice weak and fading in and out. He still couldn't think straight, but he was coming down from anxiety land.

Louie didn't know how much time had passed; a few seconds, a couple of minutes, maybe an hour or so? All he knew was that he was finally feeling better. Not ready to take on the day by any means, but ready enough to pull himself through the presentation and then probably skip the rest of the class.

A few trickles of tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn't care. With the strength that he had, he managed to stand himself up. He breathed in, and out. In and out. In and out.

"Let's just get this done and over with," he said quietly. He pushed the door open and approached the sink, investigating himself in the mirror.

His eyes were red with irritation and his lids were puffy from the crying. His hair was sticking up from who knows what. Louie's knees felt sore from kneeling on the tiled floor.

With a weak hand, he turned the faucet on and let ice cold water pour out of the spout. He rinsed his hands, cupping his palms and collected some water before splashing it in his face. He shook his head slightly, not wanting to worsen the terrible headache he already had going on. Louie turned the faucet off and shook his hands dry, not bothering to get himself a paper towel.

He pushed the heavy door open and took his time walking back to the classroom, thinking of an excuse as to his outburst. After all, he couldn't just tell the whole class that he had social anxiety. He hasn't even told a single soul in his family about it yet.


	10. I Haven't Slept In Days (Gyro x Fenton)

_Hooray for having to change the chapter title once again._  
 _Original: I Haven't Slept In Four Days (Gyro x Fenton)_

* * *

Was this how he was supposed to boss interns around? Just tell them to do something and hope they don't screw up? That's what Gyro thought, anyway. However, it did concern him just a bit when he hadn't heard from his intern in a few days. Fenton did show up to work, but it looked as though he was living in the workspace. When did Fenton last go home? Gyro shrugged, telling himself that his intern's personal life shouldn't be snooped into.

It was almost time to shut down the room for the night. As Gyro was cleaning up from today's experiments, a loud door slam filled the room.

"D-Doctor Gearloose, I've finally finished the blueprint for what I p-personally thought we could add to th-the Gizmoduck suit!" Fenton said, his words sounding quite scrambled.

It was the first time Gyro had heard his assistant talk in days. All of a sudden a weight of guilt fell into the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Good, assistant!" he said, trying to put on his uptight facade. "Just in time, too. I'm locking up the place for the night!"

"Oh, finally!" Fenton said in glee, "I can finally go home!"

Gyro froze. "Uh, what do you mean?" He was ready for the worst.

"O-Oh! It's just, uh, I haven't left this office in a few days," Fenton admitted.

Gyro shivered. What was his assistant doing for the past few days? Well, working on the blueprints, obviously, but why was his assistant staying behind? How long had he been doing this?

"Tell me you've at least not been using the emergency generators or anything," Gyro said.

"N-No worries! I've been using flashlights and have been making cold coffee at night so that I don't have to use the generator to warm up the coffee."

"W-What?!" Gyro yelled in shock. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

"I haven't slept in four days, Doctor Gearloose," Fenton admitted.

"You what?!" Gyro couldn't move. His assistant hadn't left his room and pulled all-nighters for four consecutive nights? Was this his fault? Gyro felt even more guilt.

Fenton piped up, as though he was reading Gyro's mind. "I-It's not your fault, Doctor Gearloose!"

Gyro sighed. "Look, lemme give you a ride home."

"No, it's okay. I walk to and from work," Fenton said.

"No," Gyro said sternly. "I am giving you a ride home. Now." He wasn't sure why he was being so caring towards his intern all of a sudden.

Well, for one, Gyro had the deep feeling that it was his fault that his intern hadn't slept in a few days. On top of that, he always felt the need to help his intern out somehow. It was harder for him to do such a thing, as he was well known for being what people called "cold-hearted". To him, he called it selective compassion.

"C'mon," he said, putting a hand on Fenton's shoulder, "let's go home."

He wasn't sure why, but he liked the feeling of a physical touch between him and his intern, Fenton. Maybe he could try this compassion thing out more often.


	11. Is That My Shirt? (Launchpad x Della)

_Sorry this is short!_  
 _(aren't all of my one-shots short?)_

* * *

Della was known for being a prankster. Because of this, many people assumed that she was always hyper, that she had a ton of energy. _  
_

By the fact that the washing machine still looked brand spanking new and that there as a strict "paper plates and plastic silverware only" policy, that was far from the case.

Della had run out of sleep shirts but didn't bother to figure out how to work the washing machine. She always told herself that she would learn it eventually, but in reality, the time never came.

She had already rummaged through her dirty laundry pile and smelled each and every single sleep shirt. All of them smelled like she should pick up a stick of deodorant and try the miracle stick at some point.

"What am I going to do?" she asked herself, throwing her shirts all over. She just needed one shirt that didn't smell like an absolute dump truck.

Her butt was beginning to get numb as she sat and thought about what she could do. Minutes had passed before she finally came up with an idea.

Completely shirtless, she decided to sneak into her boyfriend's room. Maybe he had a few clean shirts left. Surely he didn't mind her borrowing just one shirt, right?

Della could hear her boyfriend belting out a song as she snuck by the bathroom and to the dresser of the bedroom. Taking her time, she slowly pulled out one of the drawers to reveal his t-shirts. She pulled out the first one and unraveled it.

"Oh, his limited edition Darkwing Duck shirt. Don't think I should wear that," she whispered to herself.

She neatly folded the shirt and placed it back in the drawer. She pulled out another shirt and inspected it.

"I know HTML," Della read aloud, "How to meet ladies." She giggled in amusement. While finding the shirt entertaining, she didn't hear the sound of the shower shutting off.

"Lemme just put this on and I should be good to go," she said. Della took the shirt and threw it on. Due to her boyfriend's large body size, the shirt reached past her knees. Not to her webbed feet, but definitely a smidge past the knees.

While taking a look at the shirt that hung on her, Launchpad came walking out with a fluffy white towel around his waist.

"Is that my shirt?" he asked.

Della turned around and felt her cheeks warm up. "Uh, maybe?" she said, grinning in hopes to make her look innocent.

Launchpad cocked an eyebrow. "Why are you trying on my shirt?" he asked, smiling goofily.

"Well," Della said, beginning her explanation, "I don't have a nightshirt left that's clean, so I was going to borrow one of yours. Just be glad that I didn't choose your limited edition Darkwing Duck shirt," she teased.

"You better not have!" he said defensively. He ran towards his girlfriend and picked her up with ease.

The two laughed as the two spun around. Who knew stealing a shirt would result in this much fun? Well, it was Launchpad, after all. There was a reason why Della fell for this goofball.


	12. Don't Die On Me (Scrooge and Donald)

_Looks like angst is back in town and is gonna stay around for a bit  
Also note that this is NOT an incest pairing, it's just that Scrooge and Donald are the main stars._

 _One more thing, the chapter title had to be edited once again.  
Original: Don't Die On Me _– _Please (Scrooge and Donald)_

* * *

"Ready to go?" Scrooge asked his nephew, turning to look and see how things were with him.

Donald readjusted his large backpack. "Yep!" he quacked out.

Louie walked by the entrance hallways and stopped in his tracks. "Hey, where are you two going?"

The two adults turned to face the green-clad kid. "We're going on an adventure!" Donald explained.

Louie's eyes lit up. "Oh, where? Can I come? Pretty please!" He bounced up and down.

"Sorry lad, but this adventure is just for the two of us," Scrooge said.

"Aw, what?" Louie whined. Donald gave his nephew the cut-it-out glare. "Alright," he sighed out. "Have fun!" He waved wildly as the two ducks walked out of the manor.

As the two walked towards Launchpad's plane hanger, they discussed their plans as to what they were going to do.

"We're gonna visit Mount Selene and see if we can get any information about Della," Scrooge said. It was as though saying his niece's name didn't affect him at all. As though she were still around.

"Uh huh," Donald responded dryly.

Scrooge gave his nephew a look. "What was that for?"

Donald glared back. "It sounds like you don't give two shits about her!"

"Watch your language, lad!" Scrooge said. "I'd like to think we can at least say her name!" Donald didn't say anything in response and fumed to himself.

Launchpad approached the two as they came up to the hanger. "Ready to go, Mr. McDee!" he said proudly.

"Good," Scrooge said. "Here's the map." He gave the map to his pilot as the two boarded the plane. Donald glared at Launchpad, who took noticed and looked away. Their relationship had been rocky since Della's disappearance.

Launchpad just wished that Donald could care about him again and be friends like they used to be. Binge watching shows, making a mess in the kitchen trying to cook, both falling victim to Della's pranks, having prank wars amongst each other, teaching Donald how to fly a plane and Donald teaching him how to sail a boat. While the two did get far in their teachings, they hadn't done what they learned in years.

He shook the memories out of his head and instilled his happy attitude back into him. "Where off to, Mr. McDee?"

"Didn't he give you the map already?" Donald yelled from the back. Launchpad facepalmed.

"Right!" he said. "Is everyone buckled up and ready for take off?"

"Yep!" Scrooge chimed.

"Yep," Donald said dully.

Launchpad sighed. "Here we go!" he cheered, acting like his goofy self.

Hours blurred by as they traveled to the mountain range nearby Ithiquack. Donald didn't make much conversation while Scrooge and Launchpad had a few chats during the flight.

"Expect some turbulence, you guys," Launchpad announced.

"Oh, great!" Donald whined out. "I now remember why I stopped going on these adventures."

Scrooge sighed. "You begged to come along and now you're saying that you don't want to be here?" Donald growled but said nothing more.

The plane started to shake. At first, it was the typical turbulence that anyone who traveled on a plane before had experienced. After a moment, however, things began to get wild. Objects began to all on the floor and others scattered all over. If they weren't wearing seatbelts, they sure would've hit their heads.

Without warning, a loud bang filled the plane. Everyone looked over as the plane door flew off. The heavy wind whistled loudly. Donald was yelling in fear as Scrooge tried to calm down his nephew and Launchpad was focused on getting through the turbulence.

 _ **SNAP!**_

"Scrooge!" Donald screamed, flying out of the plane with the broken seat belt.

Launchpad looked behind him and noticed what had just happened.

"Donald!" Scrooge yelled, throwing his hand out in hopes of catching him. He was too slow as Donald disappeared out of the plane in an instant. Scrooge wasn't going to lose Donald like he did with Della, especially not in the same place.

Launchpad turned the plane sharply and dove down to make an emergency landing.

"Don't die on me– please," Scrooge said, holding onto his seat as the plane dove down.


	13. It's Your Fault (Scrooge and Louie)

_You must read_ **"Don't Die On Me"** _or else you won't understand what's going on._

 _Once again, no incest is intended._

 _And FFN keeps making me change the chapter titles.  
Original: He's Dead Because Of You (Scrooge and Louie)_

* * *

The ticking clock could be heard as silence hung in the air. Huey and Dewey had excused themselves out of the hospital. Meanwhile, Scrooge sat in one of the waiting chairs, staring at the floor. Louie stood next to him, a scowl on his face. Launchpad sat on the other side of Scrooge, sniffling.

Launchpad stood up suddenly and walked out with haste. That left the old adventurer and the youngest of the triplets.

"So," Scrooge said, finally deciding to break the silence, "I imagine you must feel bad about your Uncle."

Louie turned to face Scrooge with a venomous look. "Yea," he said with hostility.

Scrooge sighed. "What's wrong, lad? Why are you mad?"

"Because of you!" Louie snapped. Scrooge flinched before contorting a face of  
offense.

"Excuse me?" Scrooge said. "Why are you mad at me?"

"Because it's all your fault!" Louie yelled.

"Hey, don't yell. We're at a hospital-"

"I don't care!" Louie said, interrupting his great uncle.

"The door busted off and the seatbelt broke!" Scrooge explained.

"You could've caught him!" Louie said.

"We're glad we found him! That's better than nothing!" Scrooge said.

"He's dead because of you!"

Silence.

For the first time in Louie's life, the old man had a few tears in his eyes.

"W… What?" he said, weak.

That's when a nurse came walking out.

"Mr. McDuck, your nephew's chance of survival is low. We'll need a blood transfusion. Do you know anyone who has type O blood?"

Scrooge and Louie stared at each other. Louie turned around to face the few people who were sitting in the room.

"Does anyone here have type O blood?" he yelled.

Everyone looked at each other. No one seemed to volunteer. Tears began welling up in his eyes.

Suddenly, someone stood up. The duck came walking up to the small group. She was decked from top to bottom in mauve purple with a hint of pastel yellow.

"I'm blood type O," she proclaimed. "I was coming by to do that for the blood bank, actually."

The nurse turned to the lady. "Ma'am, are you sure you want to donate to someone you do not know at this instant?"

The lady looked over at Scrooge and then looked down at Louie. She nodded. "Yes, I am sure."

"Thank you so much!" Louie cheered.

Scrooge stuck his hand out. "Yes, thank you. What's your name, by the way?"

"The name's Daisy."


	14. Almost Normal (Huey)

_This takes place right after_ _"The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!"_ _You have been warned._

* * *

It felt odd to wake up in a swishing boathouse. The room so dark, so hard, and so small. It had been at least a few months since he was last in this all too familiar environment.

Huey forced his eyes open, rubbing the layers of crust that grew in his eyes all throughout the night. His eyelids felt heavy, his whole body felt heavy. And yet he wasn't hungry. After all that had happened yesterday, he wasn't hungry. He was quite parched, though. This throat also felt sore. Probably from all the yelling.

Huey slid off the bed and looked behind him. They were all in Uncle Donald's room. His uncle having one side of the bed and his brothers squeezing themselves onto the other side. Huey remembered having to take the edge of the bed while the other two fought for the rest of it. Taking a look at it now both appeared to be sharing the same space. Dewey was on the bottom while Louie was sprawled along the top of his older brother.

He couldn't help but grin a little. Sure, he didn't feel the happiness welling up in his chest, but he could feel his muscles pulling up his lips at the sight of his two brothers. He loved family so much. Maybe even a little too much.

Huey shuffled out of the bedroom, the soft rocking of the boat calming him. As he walked through the tight hallway and into the small kitchen. Nostalgia was clinging in the air. He could feel it all around him, but he couldn't breathe it in.

After arguing for the entire night, he felt empty. They all did. It called for a good night's rest, but Huey stayed up almost all night. It wasn't until the digital clock read "4:00" in it's bold, blocky red lights that Huey fell asleep.

The time on the microwave read "6:11". Only two hours of sleep. He could manage, he told himself. Huey kicked the kitchen step stool over to him and used it to reach a coffee mug in one of the cabinets. His fingers were rung loosely around the handle of the mug as he stepped off the step stool, not even bothering to close the cabinet.

He dragged himself to the coffee pot, not noticing that it was empty, let alone plugged in. His eyelids became heavy and his mind began to float away all of a sudden.

 _ **SMASH!**_

Huey gasped, a shot of adrenaline shooting through his body. For a moment he felt awake. A loud clatter filled the kitchen as the empty coffee pot escaped from his other hand and hit the hardwood floor as well.

He stood there, trying to process what happened. The adrenaline immediately died down, the tiredness kicking in once again.

"Is everything alright?" Huey looked up to see who was talking.

It took a few seconds for Huey to register who it was. "Oh! Hey, Uncle Donald." He yawned right afterward.

Donald ran over to see what had happened in the kitchen. "Is everything alright?" he repeated.

"Yea," Huey said, bending over to pick up the unscathed coffee pot. Donald bent over and began picking up the pieces from the broken coffee mug. "Sorry about breaking your mug."

The two of them came back up. Donald looked over at Huey and grinned. "It's okay," he said, his voice warm.

Huey placed the coffee pot back, walking out of the kitchen. "I'll grab the broom," he said.

As he walked out, two more ducks entered into the kitchen.

"What was that noise?" Dewey asked, his voice almost gone.

"And why am I awake? I thought I was gonna sleep in!" Louie said, his voice also hoarse but not as gone as Dewey's.

Huey came back in with broom and dustpan in hand and give it over to Donald.

"Thanks, Huey," he said.

Huey yawned in response before shuffling over to the small, circular dining table.

Donald began sweeping up the smaller bits of the coffee mug. "Good morning, boys." He was too tired to sound cheery.

"Mornin' Uncle Donald," Louie rasped out. "What's for breakfast?"

Donald picked up the dustpan. "I dunno yet. Do you and your brothers wanna search for some cereal or something?" he asked.

Dewey yawned. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

The two turned to Huey, who was fast asleep at the table. Louie turned around and walked over to the fridge. A mix of terrible stenches wafted to the young duck's nose as he opened the fridge.

"When was the last time we ate anything out of here?" he asked, waving his hand. He slammed the fridge door closed and opened the freezer.

Everything was frozen over or expired, that included the ice cream to Louie's disappointment. The food that wasn't expired was sure to have freezer burn. The only thing that wouldn't taste like the freezer and that wasn't expired was a half-empty bag of chicken nuggets.

"How about chicken nuggets for breakfast?" Louie offered.

Donald tied up the garbage bag. "Is that the only thing we have?" he asked, walking out of the boathouse.

Dewey inspected the cabinets and cupboards. All the cereal was expired, the pancake mix was nothing but an empty box, and the cans of spagettios were at least a year past expiration.

"Looks like the chicken nuggets are the only thing we have," Dewey said as Donald walked back in.

"Alright then," Donald said. Louie tossed him the bag.

Huey woke up again, looking around. "Huh?" he said, his voice raspy and groggy.

Dewey turned to look at his older brother. "We're having chicken nuggets for breakfast," he said.

Huey groaned. "You know I hate chicken nuggets!"

Louie walked over to him. "It's either chicken nuggets or moldy cereal!"

Huey sighed, not wanting to strain his voice any further by arguing. "Fine," he said.

He had to admit, things almost felt normal. Him and his brothers back on the houseboat with Uncle Donald making whatever they had for whatever meal it was. The soft rocking of the boat in the sea water was noticed by no one.

The only thing that was missing was the smell of fresh, black coffee.


	15. I Wish I Never Met You! (Webby and Lena)

_I'm finally writing one-shots again! Basically, a car crash and a busy month got me_ put _on pause for a moment, but here I am! Note there are_ _ **NO SPOILERS**_ _in this one shot. This was written before the season finale!_

* * *

"Hey Granny, I'm gonna walk around for a bit. I'll be back in time for dinner," Webby hollered, jumping up to reach her lavender jacket that hung on the coat rack.

Mrs. Beakley walked into the hallway to see her granddaughter approaching the front door. "Need to get some fresh air, I see?"

Webby nodded. "Got my phone as well. Feel free to call if I need to be home sooner," she said.

"Alright," Mrs. Beakley said contently. "See you soon," she said, waving as Webby left the house.

With the door clicking shut, Webby began her travel wherever her webbed feet took her. With every step she took, her mind continued to pace and spin. Despite it being a week or so, she couldn't get that sentence out of her head.

"You are not family!"

At this point, she had cried all of her tears out and had no more in her body. She and the triplets had been keeping some communication over the past several days, but nothing too significant.

And then there was Lena. Ever since traveling into the Other Bin, she hadn't seen her. Webby tried to get in contact with her but to no avail. She wished Lena could get in contact with her, she really needed someone to talk to about the whole situation.

To her, it felt like the end of the world. Sure, she could just go to the dock and visit Huey, Dewey, and Louie any time. Wait, no she couldn't. They're moving to Cape Suzette tomorrow. Webby sighed, glad that she didn't have to move far away because of this.

For now, her and Granny had got in contact with a relative that was willing to let them stay for a while until Granny found a house. She promised that they would stay in Duckburg.

Sand. Soft, fine sand covered her feet like a thick blanket. Webby looked up to see that she had arrived at the beach. The all too familiar beach.

"Maybe I'll find Lena here," she murmured to herself. She turned her body to the right and began to head to the dilapidated area where she first met Lena.

 _ **CLING~**_

Webby looked down at the rocks to see an empty bottle. She picked it up hastily and inspected it, hoping that there was something, anything, in there. However, it was empty, just like how it looked.

She sighed, looking back up and staring at the rock steps. One. Two. Three. Four. Webby hopped onto the wooden platform, her feet slightly wet from the slippery rocks.

"Lena?" she shouted. "Are you around here?"

Silence. Then, a head popped out behind one of the pillars.

"Lena!" Webby cheered, running over.

Lena grinned goofily and ran over. The two embraced.

"Oh Lena, I've missed you so much!" Webby said. "Everything's gone downhill!"

"It has?" Lena said. "What happened?"

The two walked over and sat down along the edge of the boardwalk. Webby started all the way from the beginning and explained everything that had happened up until where she was now. Of course, she didn't include the part about Della, as that was a personal thing. A family thing, she told herself. Of course, she wasn't family, right?

She ended the story with a heavy sigh. Lena laid an arm around her shoulder.

"Webby, I'm so sorry this is all happening," Lena said.

Silence.

"How come you didn't answer your phone?" Webby asked.

"Oh," Lena began, "I uh," she looked around, "kinda sorta… dropped it? In the water!"

Webby sighed. "Oh." She looked up at Lena. "So, do you wanna hang out or something?"

Lena sat there, frozen. Not moving. Her pupils dilated, but that was just about it.

"Uh, Lena?"

Ink black covered her scleras, a bright red replacing the pupils.

"What's going on?" Webby yelled, scooting away.

Lena turned and looked over at Webby. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Webster!"

Webby began shaking in fear. "Wh-Who are you? What did you do to Lena?"

"The name's Magica." The possessed Lena walked over to Webby. "Would you be a dear and-"

Webby screamed, pushing Lena down and running as fast as she could. One. Two. Three-

She slipped on the rock, her phone falling into the water and floating away. Her entire body was submerged in water before she swam up and got ahold of another rock.

"Come here, little girl!" she cooed.

"No!" Webby yelled, swimming over to the shore.

Sand covered her palms and her legs, the grains filling in the crevasses in her clothing. All of those thoughts whizzed by in Webby's mind, however. All she cared about right now was getting away from Magica.

Her webbed feet quickly sank in the sand with each step as though the sand had hands and was trying to pull her in. She didn't dare look back. Not now.

As soon as she made it to hard land, she bolted. She didn't look at the crosswalk lights or who was in her way. With every step she breathed harder, her breath becoming more shallow by the second.

Her mind was on autopilot. She didn't set a specific destination. She let her feet take her to whatever it thought safety was.

Webby's legs ached going up the inclined gravel path. Wait, gravel path?

She looked up and saw the all too familiar double doors. Without a second thought, she began banging on the doors. She couldn't form coherent words, only screaming.

"Why are you running away, child?" Magica said.

Webby turned around and saw her possessed friend floating towards her.

"Get away!" she yelled, still banging on the doors. Her hands were probably numb at this point, but she didn't care.

"Who's banging on my door!" The Scottish duck yelled in anger.

Webby looked up and saw the sleep deprived, grody tank-top wearing billionaire. He saw the scene going on and all thoughts flew out of his head.

"Get in!" he yelled, grabbing Webby's wrist.

She turned around, wanting to get her last words out. Webby wasn't thinking, of course she wasn't.

"I wish I'd never met you!"

 _ **SLAM!**_

Lena blinked. Tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Webby…" was all she could choke out.


End file.
